Wicked Game
by everybreatheverymove
Summary: Sequel to 'Angel of the Morning'. - They both know that it's wrong, they shouldn't keep doing this. He's moving on, but she's still there. She's still that seductive and enticing beauty, and she can still have him whenever she wants.
1. what foolish people will do

WICKED GAME

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

_This world is only gonna break your heart._

* * *

She's losing it.

Her mind, her thoughts, her child.

Everything.

It's been a few months and she's still not sure how to deal, what to do, how to move on.

She's lost everything.

* * *

"You need to get out of this bed, you're starting to scare me." Santana tried, throwing the covers away from the girl's body and removing the pillow from beneath her head.

She groaned, her hands covering her eyes to drown out the sound of her friend's voice, "Leave me alone." She mumbled.

Santana shook her head and rolled her eyes, "No." She obliges, "Get your ass out of that bed, right this fucking instant before I drag you out. You're practically moulded into the mattress." She informs her.

Rachel ignores her demand but realizes how serious she was being when Santana clasps her ankles and start to tug her off of the bed.

"Ah! Let go!" The girl listens and Rachel sits her up slowly, rubbing a hand over her face. She takes a deep breath and combs a hand through her messy hair, "What do you want, San?" She asks with a tone of annoyance at the woman.

She licks her lips and takes a seat beside her best friend on the mattress, and rests a hand on her leg reassuringly, "I know that you're in pain."

"I'm dying." She corrects her quickly, exaggerating her state.

"No, no, you're not. You're upset, you're worn down, you're weakening after what happened." Santana tells her as though she didn't already know.

"If you're going to give me a lecture and tell me to get up and move on with my life, then I don't want to hear it. You can save your speech for someone who cares." She stands up and picks her abandoned shirt up from the floor. She slips it on over her body, not even having to undo the buttons. Rachel leaves the room, walking into the kitchen and taking a cup from the tray on the counter.

She sighs, resting her head between her hands on the table.

She doesn't need this. She doesn't need someone to look after her, someone to make sure she's doing OK. It's not going to make a difference.

Nothing's going to change.

She still had nothing.

And no matter how hard Santana tries, she can't fix that.

Only one person can, and she fucked that up.

She lost him.

* * *

"You coming to work later?" Sam asks him and he thinks about it for a second.

She still works there, and Finn doesn't have the guts to face her.

He's still not sure of what happened between them.

One day there were great, perfect. They were having fun, they were happy.

The next, she was all worked up about something and didn't want to tell him what is was, and they were fighting.

And some time later, she'd ended things.

He doesn't understand what happened.

"Eh, yeah." He has to get over it at some point, right?

But he figures that it won't be that easy. It won't be so easy as to just walk into work, see her, send her a smile, and everything would be OK.

It won't- it can't be.

Because she broke him. She ripped him apart when she left, when she ended things.

She broke his heart.

And he doesn't understand why.

* * *

"Blaine, did you check over the files from last month?" Finn asks the man.

He nods, and holds up a finger before hurrying off into the back room, the office. "Actually, no. You know what, I'll go do them right now."

"Thanks, man."

He leaves and Finn is alone behind the bar. Sam left early for some family emergency and the waitress that they'd hired the other month claimed she was sick so she couldn't work the night.

He doesn't know how to manage a whole bar by himself.

The place was getting fuller and he didn't know what to do, he was the only one working the night. He was screwed.

There was only him and... her.

Rachel.

She's in the back somewhere getting ready to go on stage and he's not sure he's ready to face her quite yet.

Finn knows that she's fully capable of helping him, it's not a hard job and she's helped out before when they were short-handed.

He knows that it'll hurt him to speak to her, but he has to. He can't do this by himself.

"Can you excuse me for a sec," He waves the person ordering a drink off and makes his way into the back.

She's in the dressing room that he'd had arranged especially for her and he takes a deep breath before knocking. The door's slightly open but they're not together anymore and he doesn't want to invade her privacy.

"Come in."

He enters the room and stuffs his hands into his jeans' pockets.

"I'm almost done, Blai-" She stops herself when she turns around and spots him. Her eyes immediately cast to the floor as though she doesn't have the right to look at him and she drops the make-up brush she was holding.

"Hi."

That was an OK start, he thinks.

"Hi." She replies back, picking up her brush and placing it back down on the dresser. "I'm, uh, I'll be ready in a sec-"

"That's not why I came in."

"Oh," she starts, raising her eyebrows, "It's not?" She's sort of hoping for something, anything that'll change the way they're acting around each other. She's hoping for a change. A good change.

But she knows that she won't get one, because she messed everything up, and left him without an explanation.

She broke his heart.

"I need your help. D'you think you can help out at the bar, I need an extra set of hands?"

He's even more sure now that it's a bad idea, a very bad idea.

Finn looks at her face intently, his eyes drawn to the small smile playing on her lips as though she thinks it's a good idea, a way to get back in his good graces, but it's not, he knows that. He's sure of it, he can't just excuse what she did, he can't just forget about the day she left him without an answer as to why she was doing it.

She broke his heart, and he can't forget that.

He watches as her lips move to curve into a bigger smile, and he can't help but kill himself inside for wanting to kiss her again, for wanting to feel her lips against him one last time.

He can't help it as his gaze moves down her body to the little red dress she's wearing, to her cleavage, and to her incredible legs.

The fact that he still finds her the most perfect creature he's ever seen makes it all the more difficult for him to get over her.

The urge to lock the door behind him and take her against the dresser is running through his mind along with a dozen other dirty thoughts, but he can't put them to action. He can't because it's wrong, because he knows that they're over.

He can't help but see the exact same look on her face, the look she always got before their clothes slipped away.

"OK." It's a quiet answer, and she just now realizes how fucked up she is.

She can't do this. She can't be in such close proximity to him and pretend to not feel anything, pretend that she doesn't care about him anymore like he thinks she doesn't.

She can't do this, it'll only make things worse because she already knows that she won't be able to control herself, she won't be able to stay away from him for too long tonight before she acts on her feelings, before she acts the way she did when they were still together.

She can't help it.

She just wants him.

In every way, again.

But she can't, because she fucked it up.

She should have just been honest with him, told him what happened.

But she wasn't ready, and now she's all fucked up because of it.

He nods and they leave the room after she's finished applying her mascara.

She still wants to look good, for him. She doesn't know why, but she still feels the urge to impress and stun him. Maybe because she knows that she still can.

She walks out behind him, her hips swaying and a hint of a smirk toying on her red lips.

Because, somehow, she wants him even though she knows how wrong that is. It's wrong to play with his emotions, and her own, for that matter.

But she can't help it.

She's going to have him.

* * *

The bar's busier than it was before and he curses himself for having left it in the first place.

He serves the old guy who's been sat there for a while first because he's getting impatient. He serves the redhead at the end of the bar who keeps winking at him.

Rachel seems to be doing OK, she's quite good at it actually. She knows her way around the bar, she knows what drinks are what. She just remembers everything from the time they were alone in the place and had their own fun. A small grin creeps onto her face but she quickly brushes the thoughts away, she doesn't want Finn to see and ask her what she was thinking about.

_That time we fucked in the booth over there_.

She doesn't think it would go down too well.

A blonde girl is waving a hand across Rachel's face and she suddenly snaps back to reality.

"Yeah, what can I get you?"

"Vodka Tonic." She replies and the brunette hurries off to make her the alcoholic beverage. She slides the glass across the bar and slips the money into the till.

The blonde sticks around, a finger tracing the rim of her glass in circles.

Rachel wonders what she's up to until she catches her gaze.

She's staring at Finn, and the brunette sends the girl a grimace.

"Can I get you anything else?" She doesn't mean to sound that rude, but it just slips out. She doesn't like people eyeing things that are hers, but then she remembers that he's not hers anymore and he can do anything he wants to. Even this bimbo.

"How about his number?" She smirks, and tilts her head to the side, when Finn laughs at something that someone said.

Rachel's face tightens, she doesn't like this bitch.

"Sorry,"

"What, he's taken?" The woman asks.

She doesn't know what to reply, "It's, uh, complicated."

"Doesn't sound complicated to me." The smirk reappears on her face and stands up, "As long as there's no ring on that finger, he's not taken." She picks up her glass and makes her way over to Finn's side of the bar, leaning forwards as she takes a seat on a stool.

"Hi, I'm Quinn."

Rachel's face slowly start to burn up.

She doesn't like this bitch.

But she knows that she can't feel that way, she can't hate on her for wanting him because she feels the same way.

Finn can do whatever he wants, he's available and she knows that that's all her doing.

Because she fucked things up.

* * *

She stares at herself in the mirror, her forehead creasing as a thousand thoughts cross her mind.

She messed everything up.

She ruined everything.

She lost everything.

A tear trails down her cheeks as she remembers the last few months before everything got so screwed up.

They were happy. She was happy, for once in her life.

Everything was perfect.

But then that one day came, and everything went down hill.

She misses that life, the one where everything had gotten better. The one where she was feeling great, she had everything she wanted, everything she needed.

As soon as everything got good, everything came spiralling out of control.

She lost grip of her life, she lost grip of her love.

She lost Finn.

Rachel's hands find the zipper on the side of her dress and slowly start to pull it down, when someone interrupts her and knocks on the door again.

She abandons the zip and wipes away the tears on her face. She gulps a breath and tries to rub away the mascara stains.

She doesn't turn around but she sees in her mirror that Finn enters and shuts the door behind him.

"Hey, you OK?"

She doesn't know when they suddenly got on speaking terms.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She knows that he won't believe her.

He walks closer to her and hopes that he won't notice the stains on her face.

"You sure?" He sounds concerned and worried, and she just wants him to hug her and tell her that everything will be okay. She wants him to tell her that she still matters, that he still loves her. But he won't, not anymore.

She nods calmly, her shoulders quivering from a cold shudder. He places a hand on her arm and she spots him staring at her in the mirror.

He can see her tears and now he's even more bothered about her.

"Rachel-" He starts and she can't help but miss when he called her by a nickname. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm fine. I told you." She sounds abrupt and he's taken back.

She stands up, turning away from him. She picks up her previous clothes from the table in front of her and holds them tightly in her arms against her chest.

He inclines, taking a step back and heading to leave the room. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She doesn't reply she just nods, and in the few seconds that follow before he leaves, she knows that has to get it out.

She's in so deep.

She wants to tell him how she feels, how she still loves him so much. She wants him to tell her the same thing.

She wants to explain so much to him, tell him about everything that happened that led to her leaving him.

She wants for him to hold her, to hold her in his arms and she cries about every sad sentiment she's feeling.

She wants him to love her again. She wants to feel him completely again, in every which way possible like they used to.

"I'm sorry." She calls behind him.

Finn stops in his tracks, his back still turned to her.

He's not sure what to reply, mainly because he wasn't ready for her to say it. Part of him wishes that she would have said something more, but the other part is just content with those two words.

She continues, her voice showing clear nerves, "I just- I'm sorry, is all." She's shivering again, only this time she knows that it's not from the cold draft seeping through the window.

She's sorry. She's sorry for leaving him, for leaving him without an explanation. She's sorry for everything that she didn't tell him. She's sorry for so many things that happened but that she's till not ready to share. She's sorry for crushing him inside, for leaving him broken and cut into a million piece. But mostly, she's sorry for breaking his heart because things will never be the same ever again.

He twists himself back around to face her, a look of apprehension on his face. He gets her, and everything, a bit clearer now for some reason now, some reason that he still doesn't quite understand.

"Rach," She softly smiles at the appellation; she likes the nickname so much better.

"I'm sorry... for everything." She shakes her head as she speaks her own words, "You did so much for me, you were great and amazing and so incredible and I just threw that all back in your face. I'm a mess, and I fucked everything up so badly that nothing's ever going to be the same as it was and it's all my fault. And I'm so sorry." Her voice breaks at the last words.

She's crying again and he wishes he would take her pain away, but he can't.

Because it's wrong.

But in that moment, when she's breaking down and when she needs him, he doesn't care about what's right or wrong. He just cares about her.

He always will.

He walks over, stopping just in front of her. He knows it's wrong, but his ignorance gets the better of him, and he finds himself cradling her against his frame. She's still so small and he wants to take away every inch of pain that she's feeling.

Finn angles her head up so she's looking at him, a finger placed under her chin delicately.

"You're not a mess, Rach." He whispers, his eyes catching hers, "You're still beautiful to me." He tells her and her breath hitches, "You're breathtaking."

He can't help it.

The clothes folded in her arms fall to the floor as she wraps her arms around his neck at the contact. He kisses her intensely, his tongue slipping into her mouth as she deepens the embrace.

Her hands trail down his neck to his chest, grasping at his shirt. She presses herself against him closely, and he pulls her legs up beside him and she wraps them around his waist.

They know that it's wrong, so bad, but they can't help it.

They still have that pull, that tether, and it won't ever break.

They're both just as fucked up as the other.

"Finn-" She starts, breaking the kiss as she feels her back hit the edge of her dresser. She takes a deep breath before beginning to speak, "This isn't-"

He cuts her off, "Shh." He simply places his mouth against hers again, biting the inside of the bottom lip.

She moans out a soft breath when he pulls the rest of her zip down the side of her body and she manoeuvres her way out of the clothe.

She's ignoring her conscious and letting her heart take over because she knows that deep down inside she's making the right choice.

His lips are caressing hers and she can't help it when her hands find the belt of his pants.

The item slips away along with his shirt and he pushes his jeans down his legs. She slips her underwear off before hooking her legs around him again, dragging him closer to her.

Finn hurries his briefs down his legs before clasping both of her hands and holding them in his own above her head, against the mirror.

He thrusts into her and she cries out, her fingers tightening in his.

They can't help it.


	2. she's such a ladykiller

**I know it's short, believe me, I do. And after all the wait, you probably expected a much longer chapter. I totally get it and I'm terribly sorry, but I promise that the next one will be much, much longer. This one is mainly Santana centric because you can never have enough of her, bitchy, and witty, and everything. Enjoy.**

* * *

WICKED GAME

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

_Oh, you'd better watch yourself. I think that girl is insane._

* * *

It's been a week. One whole, incredibly long week, and she's growing sick of the silence and the awkward tension that hangs in the air every time they cross each others paths.

It shouldn't be this hard, this complicated. They should be together, they should be happy.

There shouldn't be some weird ambiance in the room whenever they were in close proximity of each other.

Santana's made it pretty clear.

_'Get your shit together, or get out of my apartment.'_

So, she has to. She's gotta get back to normal, try to move past everything and ignore the feelings she has to jump his bones whenever she sees him.

It's incredibly hard to do, though, because that blonde woman keeps coming back to the bar and flirting with him every chance she gets. She throws her hair back and pouts her lips, an act that Rachel has had to excel in.

She kind of misses it, the feeling that you're in control. The rush she got whenever she was with him, every time she got close to him and she could do whatever she wanted. And she could, because he'd happily give in. But now, now that everything's so crazy, and confusing, and awkward, she has to hold herself back.

She can't kiss him, she can't touch him. She can't breath him in.

Rachel hates it, she hates the distance. She misses him, she misses the times that they were once so close that they were practically suffocating each other but it wasn't a problem. Now, everything has changed and she's not sure that things will ever go back to the way they were.

* * *

Sam comes to visit her a few days after she's started to mould her ass to the couch. Well, he comes by to pick up Santana really but he hangs back for a second and grabs her arms, pulling her to stand up straight. She only glares at him, before plopping back down on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her as she picks up another tub of ice cream.

"You're gonna get a fat ass." Santana points out, ramming her make-up bag and phone into her small purse.

The smaller brunette shrugs, stuffing a spoon full of mint chocolate chip into her mouth. "Don't care."

"Are you at least coming to my party, tonight?" She asks, leaning down in front of the girl and resting her hands on her knees.

"Maybe."

Santana smacks her gently on the cheek with a grin, "It's my birthday, so you better come." She smirks after a second, "Wear something hot, Finn's going to be there." She tells her before she leaves, tapping her knee gently twice.

The door slams behind her as she leaves.

"Great." She mumbles to herself as she picks the spoon back up and licks off the ice cream.

* * *

"Hi, you must be Santana." The blonde shrieks.

Santana winces as she sticks her hand out, clearly offering it to shake. She reluctantly takes it, a fake smile appearing on her lips, "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Quinn." She informs her, "Finn's girlfriend." She smiles, not noticing the look of dread written across Santana's face. "Happy birthday!"

She thanks the girl quickly before walking away and off to her table. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She rummages through her handbag, searching for her phone. Picking it up, she hurriedly dials a number, groaning when it goes straight to voice-mail. "Shit!"

"What's the matter, babe?" Sam asks her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she throws herself down beside him in the booth. He places a kiss on the side of her neck and she rests a hand on his shoulder.

"I invited Rachel."

He frowns, confused as to what she means, "That's good though, right?"

"No, because your boy over there invited his new Malibu Barbie girlfriend." She points over to where Finn stands, an arm wrapped around the girl's waist. She leans against him, smiling as he says something that appears funny.

"Oh- Oh!" He suddenly realizes, his lips curving nervously. "Oh, crap, that can't be good."

"You think?" She asks him sarcastically, rubbing her hands over her face and groaning. "This is fucking bad, this is just a set-up for disaster!"

Sam bites his bottom lip as he thinks of something, he has to help her crisis. It's his job now, as the boyfriend. And as a friend, he can't let Rachel go through this. "Maybe..."

The girl beside him peeks an eye open, a curious look on her face, "Yeah?"

He shakes his head, resting a hand down on her arm and rubbing small circular patterns with his thumb, "Nah, never mind." He watches the way she grabs her hair, her throat rough as she groans, thinking something up. "Why don't you just tell her to leave? It is your party. Shouldn't you have some control over who comes?" He points out and she slowly sits herself up next to him.

She swiftly turns her body around, resting her legs across his lap and he pulls her closer to which she wraps an arm around his neck. "I can't do that, she's already here." She pulls a face as she quickly eyes the blonde, "Besides, that's rude, and I'm... I'm not like that any more."

He chuckles quietly, "Yeah, sure."

It's sarcastic and she swats a hand across his chest with a huff, "Just shut up and help me!"

She brainstorms for a short instant before she taps a hand against the shiny red table with a thump.

"We gotta move the party." She exclaims and Sam groans beside her, throwing his head back. "Seriously? Babe, I just got comfy!"

"God, you're such a child!" She informs him with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest as she stands up. She watches the way his face crumples like an infant being told off by his mother for stealing the ice cream, and she devilishly grins, "If your junk wasn't so good, I'd probably dump your ass."

He smirks and pats her behind as she turns to walk away, heading off towards Finn and his new _lady friend_.

Santana eyes the blonde carefully as she approaches the bar. She's weighing the competition, judging the girl before she gets the chance to know her. Santana doesn't get to know people; it's first instinct that matters to her. If she likes the first thing that comes out of your mouth, apart from your name, she'll like you. But if you piss her off within the first few seconds, or if she doesn't like the look of the person presented in front of her, that's it. Done. On the bad list.

Do what she wants, or die trying.

Adapt, or give up and leave her the fuck alone.

And this girl, this blonde floozy who's flaunting herself around like some sort of Barbie doll with daddy's bank card and twirling her cheap pink coloured acrylics around the room like a brat, should just give up now because Santana isn't buying any of it.

Her hair's short, her fridge swept to the side and held by a shiny pink clip just above her right ear. Her dress is short, much too short and tight for her shape and form, and the trashy white colour doesn't help the pale complexion of her skin. Her heels are OK, Santana admits, but she herself would never wear them because then that would mean having to commit reputation suicide and taking those things to her grave with detestation. They're only suitable for little white rich girls who like to party and lose them in some random hobo's apartment the next morning.

The brunette slaps a hand against the counter and rests her arm on Finn's shoulder. She watches the way the blonde frowns at her briefly before faking a cherry smile, and Santana smirks, "Finny... can I talk to you for a quick sec?" She asks, holding up a finger as she squints her eyes.

He creases his forehead in confusion but reluctantly agrees, excusing himself from Quinn as he walks away behind his friend.

She spins around abruptly, directly pressing a hand to his chest with strength, "What are you doing?"

"You're the one who just pulled me away from-"

She shakes her head and folds her arms over her chest again, "Oh, believe me, I know what I did. I just saved you from the most boring conversation of your whole entire life."

Finn shrugs her off, "No, Quinn, she's not-"

He's kind of pissed with the way she keeps cutting him off.

"Yes, yes, she is. She's boring, and irritating. And I'm pretty sure that if you spend any more time with her, you'll have agreed to a prenup by the end of the week that her daddy made you sign." She grins triumphantly up at him when he sighs, "Look, I just wanted to tell you that Rachel's coming tonight, and that Flat-Chested Polly better not be here when she arrives."

"Rachel's fine. We're- We're OK. I think." He's not sure of himself, because, if he's being honest, he has not idea whatsoever as to where they stand anymore. He knows that they haven't spoken in a while and, by anyone's terms, that may seem a little rude, but he just finds the whole situation between them extremely awkward and the tension in the air everytime they're both in the same room within close proximity really doesn't help.

He doesn't want to hurt her, but he has to move on eventually.

And she does, too.

Right?

"It's my birthday! I decide who's invited. And, last I remember, your new slut friend was not on the list."

"Santana!"

She stares up at him, a confused look on her face at his exclamation. "I'm not going to apologize for being a bitch. That's why people love me." She declares, clearly proud of herself, "Either she leaves, or we're moving this party some place else and neither of you are coming." She warns him, holding her hand up with a serious look on her face.

"I own this bar. I'm not leaving, and neither is Quinn."

Santana rolls her eyes and brushes him off, "Whatever, you just got knocked down on my good list. It's your mistake, just try not to make any more." She struts away from him, heading back over to Sam as she pulls her cell phone up, dialling a number all to quickly with a groan.

"Hey, Rach. Meet us at Blaine's house. We're moving the party, it just got fucked up." She trails off, glancing over her should back to Finn and the blonde. She gulps before finishing her sentence with a shake of the head as she listens to Rachel ask why, "But don't worry, Santana always has a plan B."

Rachel's her best friend, so she doesn't just mean the party when she says the words.

If Finn wants to play this game, she's bringing out the big guns.


End file.
